


my love won't do you no harm

by soniclipstick (veriscence)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Nightmares, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Protective Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson Feels, Sharing a Bed, Switching, WinterFalcon - Freeform, realistic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-02 00:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10933401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veriscence/pseuds/soniclipstick
Summary: Sam is vulnerable. Yes, Sam is a veteran, an Avenger and at the very least forty levels of badass, but he’s also just human. And Bucky won’t be the kind of man who hurts his fella. So most days they have dinner together, make love and cuddle, and then Bucky goes to sleep in his own room, the one with every kind of security measure that Nat, Bucky and Tony could think up.It works, until it doesn’t.(Or: how Bucky realises that Sam needs him just as much as he needs Sam.)





	my love won't do you no harm

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to ereshai for the wonderful beta. You’re brilliant and I appreciate your work so much.  
> Thank you to Cazdina for reading this fic and cheerleading me. I’m so happy you love WinterFalcon!  
> Song title comes from the Marvin Gaye song, “I Got You (I Feel Good)”

“Will you fucking move?” Sam seethes, spread out on the bed under Bucky; his belly rises and falls rapidly under Bucky’s flesh hand.  Bucky grins. It’s starting to become their version of “I love you”. The first time they’d done this, Sam had said , “Will you fucking move?” and Bucky had obeyed, only to come faster than a teenage boy getting his first hand job behind the school bleachers — Sam’s words, not his. Now, Bucky grins, and stays exactly where he is, because he loves Sam, and he loves fucking Sam. Obviously. But he loves annoying Sam even more. Normal people make grand romantic gestures to show their affections; Sam and Bucky run against each other in a contest in pettiness.

Well, Sam and Bucky have more fun than normal people.

“Asshole,” Sam says, throwing his arms over Bucky’s shoulders and pulling himself up, inadvertently pulling out more than either of them like. So Bucky rearranges them, sitting down cross-legged on the bed and guiding Sam back down by his hips. The motion brings Sam’s chin to rest right on the crown of Bucky’s bowed head, and his twitching cock against Bucky’s belly. “ _Fuck.”_

“That’s the general idea, Sammy,” Bucky whispers, and rolls his hips. Sam’s hands join his chin on Bucky’s head, clutching hair as Sam begins to move his hips, every movement echoing against Bucky’s palms.

“I hate you,” Sam gasps out in between kisses to his forehead. But his fingers twitch on Bucky’s shoulders. Sam’s a terrible liar.

“Fine, let’s break up,” Bucky says into the hollow of Sam’s chest, a place carved out just for Bucky. Sam moves again, his asshole squeezing and releasing Bucky’s cock in an increasingly unpredictable pattern as Sam’s hard cock rubs precome over Bucky’s belly. Sam smells like basil from the pesto they’d had for dinner, like sex and the cardamom he puts in his tea. Bucky could do this forever.

“How long do you think Steve’ll pout if we do?” Sam asks, the last word a moan that he manages to extend to three syllables.

“Forever,” Bucky smirks, and palms Sam’s cock. “Do you really want to have that on your conscience?”

Sam lets out a guttural groan. “Guess we’re — _oh fuck, yeah right there —_ stuck together then.”

“What a shame,” Bucky replies and then bends his head to lick wet circles around a dusky nipple. Sam will dispute it later, but the sound he makes is a pitiful whine, hands holding Bucky’s head in place as Sam grinds down hard.

And then pleasure. White hot pleasure as Sam moves, grace giving way to erratic motion. Soon, Bucky can’t concentrate on anything but the feel of Sam around him, so he just presses his open mouth to the nipple and lets Sam take what he wants.

They stop only when the friction becomes unbearable and Sam’s hisses become more hitched and less in pleasure with every movement. “Where’s the lube?”

Bucky pulls away, pressing Sam gently on the bed to go search for it. Which is the perfect place for Sam to boss him around. “Fucking find it, oh my God.”

“Just you wait — turn that into a Hamilton quote and I swear I will leave you in this bed and go back to my own,” Bucky warns even as Sam drops his head on the pillow with a groan. When Bucky finally finds the lube, it’s on the floor under their pile of clothes. “Fucking finally,” Bucky says, turning back to the bed. He’s the luckiest man alive, Bucky thinks, as he catches the moment Sam’s fingers leave his mouth and reach for his cock. “You couldn’t wait two damn seconds?”

“Sorry, I forgot how age can slow one down.” Sam replies, lower lip caught between his teeth.

Bucky doesn’t remember how he goes from there to being inside of Sam again. One second Sam’s being a little shit, and the next, Bucky’s shutting him up with his mouth and filling him up. This time the motion is smoother, slicker, and soon, they’re not even kissing, rather breathing raggedly into each other’s mouths until Sam comes all over Bucky’s palm and Bucky follows, filling Sam up until he leaks and Bucky has to use his fingers to push the come back where it belongs — inside Sam.   

-

In the aftermath, they curl around each other in bed, Sam’s fingers carding through Bucky’s hair. There are wet wipes in the bin and clothes on the floor, but the room is warm and the blankets are ignored for each other’s body heat. Or at least, for Bucky’s. Sam runs colder and enjoys annoying Bucky with his cold ass fingers.

“Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“I want coffee. The good stuff.”

“It’s nearly midnight.”

“Don’t be so offensive. There’s no wrong time for coffee, Samuel.”

“Samuel? Stop hanging out with Tony. I don’t care if he got you your memories and an arm back, it’s weird.” Sam’s too absorbed in his phone to even glance at Bucky, probably tweeting his mother or snapchatting Natasha. “And stop looking at me like that. If you drink coffee now, you won’t sleep well, you know I’m right.”

“Make me coffee.”

“No. Here, [watch this baby throw his hands in the air when he wakes up](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yarZRgMWVmo&ab_channel=KPtheBaby).”

-

When Bucky wakes up, Sam’s fast asleep beside him. Sam Wilson takes more naps than Nathan Barton, and Nate’s a baby. The wall clock reads 12:30 am. He’s been asleep for a whole half an hour. He tries to move without waking Sam, but the man used to be a soldier, and _is_ an Avenger.

“Don’t go yet,” Sam says, voice rough like sandpaper.

“We’re both falling asleep, Sam. If I stay any longer, I’ll end up staying the night.”

“How awful.”

Bucky sits up, running his metal fingers through his hair. “We agreed.”

“Technically we didn’t,” Sam says, also sitting up. “You made a decision and refused to even discuss it. That’s not an agreement. You haven’t even had a nightmare in weeks.”

“But what happens the next time I do?” Bucky snaps. Why is it so hard for Sam to understand this? Hurting Sam, accidental or not — that’s not an option.

Sam opens his mouth, as if to argue, then closes it with a sigh. “Fine, go to bed.”

Bucky leans in for a kiss, an apology on his mouth even if he can’t speak the words, and Sam accepts them. His mouth is warmth and comfort — all the things Bucky has to remind himself a hundred times a day that he’s allowed to have. “Good night.”

“Good night, Bucky.”

Then he picks his things up and heads off to his own room.

-

Here’s the deal. When Sam and Bucky first got together, it had been a few months into a reluctant and yet easy friendship. When Tony had showed up in Wakanda unannounced, presenting BARF and a way to return Bucky’s memories and remove the Nazi brainwashing, Sam and Bucky were still at a stage in their friendship which more ponytail pulling than a schoolyard. So when they’d first kissed — a half-asleep, unplanned brush of the lips at four in the morning on an Easter Sunday in upstate New York — Bucky had been still fresh off the BARF thing. He’d been having nightmares every night and sometimes even day.  Those days, Steve had spent every night with Bucky so he wouldn’t wake up with clawed marks on his face. Then on a particularly bad night, Steve had tried to wake him from a nightmare, and instead gotten a broken arm for it.

So Bucky had made a decision with the freedom that so many people had fought to give him, and kicked Steve out of the room. Since then, Bucky slept alone, and had Friday wake him up from nightmares instead. Steve had never held it against him, and the arm had healed within a week anyway, but Steve is enhanced. Sam is vulnerable. Yes, Sam is a veteran, an Avenger and at the very least forty levels of badass, but he’s also just human. And Bucky won’t be the kind of man who hurts his fella. So most days they have dinner together, make love and cuddle, and then Bucky goes to sleep in his own room, the one with every kind of security measure that Nat, Bucky and Tony could think up.

And on the nights he does have nightmares, someone else is inevitably up, so he doesn’t bother Sam. For the most part, it’s a sleep-deprived Tony. The first time it had happened, they’d sat together in awkward silence until Tony had bumped shoulders with him, then shrugged at Bucky’s resulting look. Nowadays, they drink coffee or whiskey or sometimes both and Tony falls asleep in Bucky’s lap. Some nights, it’s Wanda instead, and they share hot chocolate and watch shitty cartoons with screaming men in orange karate uniforms. Steve’s also a common visitor. They’ll sit on the couch together in companionable silence, Steve’s arm thrown over his shoulder. Sometimes it’s a heavy weight. Sometimes Bucky thinks he’ll float away without it.

In the mornings, he always tells Sam, that’s the deal. Initially, Sam had demanded that Bucky wake him up, but since Sam and the others had made it to Wakanda with Steve, there have been heavy bags under his eyes. Sam needs his sleep. So instead, Bucky will show up in the bedroom the morning after, and Sam will prepare a bath for him and let him rest on his chest until the water is cold and the soap bubbles all burst. Then they’ll train and sometimes Sam will go off to save the world and Bucky will be left behind with Rhodey and Wanda. So they’ll complain about the sixteen-year-old Spider-kid being allowed to fight when they’re not, but then everyone will come home and Peter has some of the oldest eyes Bucky has ever seen and Bucky is ninety-eight years old.

(Then Peter tells him — on an early Saturday morning when they find each other in the kitchen with bruises under their eyes and tear tracks on Peter’s face — about Uncle Ben and Gwen. And he never complains about Peter having clearance again.)

-

So this time, like every other night, he kisses Sam goodnight and stalks off to his own room. He changes into gym clothes — people wear special clothes just for running now — and  runs into the woods for an hour or so until his body finally agrees to _maybe_ consider sleep, and then comes back home. He showers, brushes his teeth, touches the already fading love-bites Sam gave him but a few hours ago, and turns in for the night.

-

When Bucky wakes up a little while later, he’s covered in sweat and he can barely breathe. Friday turns his lights on and tells him the date, the time, and location. She counts in and out for him until he remembers to breathe with his belly. By the time he’s up on wobbly knees, he can’t remember his dream anymore — just the fear and the cold.

The clock tells him it’s three am. He makes his way to the communal kitchen, begins to make coffee — Steve will be up soon anyway, and Tony probably hasn’t even made it to bed yet. A few minutes later, he’s proven right when Tony stumbles into the kitchen. “Coffee. Gimme.”

Bucky silently passes him the already cooling triple espresso and lets Tony drink first. “Thank God, also you. What are you doing up?”

Bucky shrugs. “You?”

Tony shrugs back. Tony understands. Bucky grabs another cup of coffee, and leads him to the living room. A severely sleep-deprived looking Natali-Natasha looks up at them from where she’s knitting a loopy looking scarf on the couch, and moves to the far left to give the two of them space.

Around four in the morning, Tony dozes off, sprawled across their legs. Ten minutes later, Bucky wrangles the abomination from Natasha’s hand and teaches her how to do it right.

“That’s not what YouTube said,” she grumbles, but follows Bucky’s lesson.

“YouTube is for babies.”

“Well, fuck you,” Natasha says. Bucky sighs, and shows her the baby video. “Oh. Barton’s baby’s cuter.”

“That’s ‘cause Barton’s baby is fat.”

Natasha smiles.

-

Before they can have breakfast, robots attack Miami and the Avengers do what they’re good at — and assemble. Wanda disappears into the bedroom with a frown on her face and Rhodey offers Bucky a comm. unit. Bucky accepts it. Rhodey’s witty and kind, and very close to Sam. He’s someone Bucky knows he could easily be friends with. But he already has Tony and Stevie, and relationships take so much energy that he can’t be bothered to start another one.  

“Spot me?” Rhodey asks, holding an arm out from the sofa. Bucky pulls him up, and they make their way to the physiotherapy station.

-

When the Avengers come home, Scott won’t stop talking about cheeseburgers, so Bucky fires up the grill and lets the others freshen up. An hour later, everyone’s down on the patio except for Sam, so Bucky throws his spatula at Steve and heads to check in on him.

The water’s still running in the bathroom. Bucky knocks on the door. “Sam? You okay in there? I’m coming in.”

When he does, he can’t see Sam’s shadow through the curtain, though he can see the water running now. “Sam?”

He pushes the curtain aside, and finds Sam crumpled on the bathtub floor, head bowed, eyes closed. “Sam!” In seconds, he’s in the shower, checking for a pulse, and once finding one, shaking him awake. “Sam! Sammy wake up!” This isn’t happening, this can’t be happening, he can’t lose him—

“Bucky?” Sam opens those beautiful brown eyes of his and Bucky nearly cries in relief. Then it’s automatic, he pats Sam down, checking for injuries, head trauma, the works. “Bucky? I’m fine. I didn’t get hurt. I’m okay.”

“Then why the hell are you passed out in the shower, huh?” Bucky snaps back, continuing his check. “Are you feeling dizzy? You sure you didn’t hit your head?”

Sam takes Bucky’s shaking hands and brings them to his lips. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m okay. I’m sorry I scared you. I’m just tired. I dozed. Shh, it’s okay.”

Bucky’s soaking wet now and wearing Sam’s old Trinity Washington University t-shirt that smells like him and Sam’s naked and holding him close. 

He can’t stop shaking.

-

That night, they have dinner with the team, then a movie. So they all crowd around the biggest sofa in the den, despite there being enough seats to sit them all and then some.  Five minutes into _Brave_ , Sam’s snoring softly beside Bucky. By the time Eleanor has been turned into a bear, almost everyone is asleep. The only ones awake are Bucky who can’t fall asleep with so many people and so many openings present; and Tony. The man is dozing, but startles awake every two minutes in defensive stance — despite the fact that he’s sitting on the floor clutching Rhodey’s leg. Bucky can’t stop staring at Sam. They’re too open and vulnerable in this space. He carries Sam to bed.

-

Sam’s snoring even as Bucky rearranges him on the bed, pulling his jeans and socks off and covering him with the duvet. Bucky presses a soft kiss to Sam’s forehead and then pulls away, but he can’t leave, can’t look away. So he dims the lights, grabs Sam’s phone and plugs it in to charge, and then plops down on the ground beside the wall outlet to check out Sam’s twitter account.

-

They go on. Sam continues napping on Bucky and Bucky continues to sleep alone. So what if sometimes, Bucky wonders what it’s like to be Sam, to be able to fall asleep in Bucky’s presence without having to worry about anything. To be so bone-tired from training that sleep comes gladly, no bitching and definitely no moaning. Bucky on the other hand runs an hour every night just so he can sleep, and Sam, despite spending a lot of his time with Bucky asleep, looks worse for wear. Now Bucky’s not the best with words, but he knows something’s wrong.

So he tries to bring it up in conversation. Except before he gets a chance, every time they sit down and Bucky sucks up the courage to bring it up, Sam’s drooling on his shoulder.  

It’s nothing to worry about, Bucky thinks. Probably.

Instead he heads down to the gym and finds Steve beating up a punching bag. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, Stevie?”

-

Steve fights like he’s half his size and that makes him dangerous, but he wouldn’t ever hurt Bucky, so this sparring is genuine fun. “So what are you doin’ down here a quarter past midnight?”

Steve shrugs as they circle each other. “Couldn’t sleep. Could ask you the same.”

“Sam’s asleep.”

“And instead of being nice and cozy, you decided you wanted me to beat you up?”

“I decided I’d rather beat _you_ up, ya punk,” Bucky attacks and Steve evades with grace. And Steve says he can’t dance. Bucky wonders if there’s anywhere he can take Sam dancing. Then he wonders if Sam likes to dance. He’s never asked. How has he never asked Sam that?

“Are you still not letting him sleep in the same bed as you?”

“Are you and Tony still acting like jilted exes to each other?” Instead of attacking, Steve’s face crumbles and his hands fall to his side. “Shit, Stevie.”

“I fucked it up. He can barely be in the same room as me. I’m in love with him and he hates my guts.”

“Well, you have a shitty way of showing it,” Tony’s voice is soft, but it reverberates from the entrance to the gigantic training room. Bucky catches colour draining from Steve’s face before he turns around to look at Tony.

“Guess someone’s ready to stop avoiding conflict,” Bucky mutters under his breath.

“Take the psychobabble to your therapist, Hershey Kiss,” Tony tells him, and Bucky takes the cue.  

“I’m out of here,” Bucky turns to tell Steve, leaning in to give him a quick hug when he looks even paler than he did before. “Hey, think of it this way. It can’t possibly get worse. And if you somehow manage to miraculously fuck everything up again, I’ll buy you a drink after.”

He climbs out of the ring and pats Tony on the shoulder on his way out. “If it all goes to hell, I’ll let you punch me in the face again.”

“Too soon, asshole.”

“It’s been over a year, genius,” Bucky says. “Good night, boys.”

-

One last check-in is in order. Sam had been looking so tired lately, so Bucky figures he’ll just make sure Sam is sleeping well. Except when he reaches Sam’s bedroom, there’s no one in there. “Friday, where’s Sam?”

“With Colonel Rhodes, Mister Barnes.”

Huh.

He’s not sleeping tonight; he might as well get another run in.

-

By the time he comes back from his run, Steve and Tony are making breakfast together, working silently but peacefully in the kitchen.

Bucky waves away offers of gluten-free pancakes (“what is gluten and what’s wrong with it?” he adds the question to the mental list he makes to ask Natasha the next time they treat themselves to facial masks) and heads for the shower. A minute later, Sam joins him, pressing himself against Bucky’s back and releasing his breath into a kiss on the junction of his shoulder and neck. “Hey there, good-looking.”

“Hey,” Bucky replies. _Are you okay? Are we okay? What did I do wrong?  Why couldn’t you come to me? Am I not enough?_ He nearly blurts out all the questions piling up in his head, but then Sam finds the shampoo and begins to lather up Bucky’s hair with the sort of care one applies to newborn babies and heirloom jewellery. Bucky lets go of everything but the contact with Sam.

“Did you sleep well?” Sam asks. Bucky replies by pressing his forehead against the bathroom tiles. “Close your eyes.”  Bucky obeys. Sam rinses the shampoo out of his hair. He turns him around and presses him against the wall. Bucky opens his eyes and instantly regrets it. Sam’s looking at him with worry; the bags under Sam’s eyes look like bruises.

What’s the point of this relationship if all it does is drain Sam? Doesn’t Sam get tired of all Bucky’s bullshit?

“Stop looking at me like I’m dying on ya.”

“Well, you _are_ ninety-eight, it’s well within my rights to be concerned,” Sam retorts, placing his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “You okay?”

“I love you,” Bucky blurts out. Something’s up. Bucky doesn’t know what. He knows the world though, and how relentless it can be in its pursuit of taking everything from Bucky.

Sam smiles softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. When he says “I love you, too”, Bucky knows it’s the truth.

“Then I’m okay.”

Sam snorts. “Stop being so sweet, it’s weird.”

“You’re weird,” Bucky retorts, and then palms Sam. He swallows his stupid insecurities and the gasp that climbs out of Sam’s mouth.

 -

“Sam?” They’re hand-in-hand on a trail behind the compound. It leads into the woods.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

Sam’s hand twitches in Bucky’s. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

-

Two days later, they’re in the bath, Bucky’s back to Sam’s chest. Lana del Rey is playing from Sam’s phone because neither of them can figure out how to work the music thing on the wall and neither of them want to suck it up and be the first to ask Friday. Bucky’s ass is pressed against Sam’s soft cock. It’s probably weird but actually it breathes of a comfort and domesticity that Bucky refuses to give up. There are bubbles and too much bath salt sinking to the bottom of the tub and rubbing against the soles of Bucky’s feet. There is a Falcon rubber ducky that Sam had once found on a mission in Bangkok. There’s Sam’s palm on his chest and ankles touching ankles.

Sam’s supposed to be his boyfriend, not his therapist and mother. Sometimes it feels like Sam is trying to be everything all at once. Bucky thinks if he had to do the same he’d swerve like a car whose driver doesn’t know where to turn right or left, and keeps changing their mind at the last second.

“Do you get tired of this?” Bucky asks quietly. _Do you get tired of taking care of me?_

Silence never hurt like this before. Bucky pulls himself away suddenly and behind him, Sam startles. “Whu-?”

When Bucky looks at him, Sam’s staring at Bucky blearily, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Were you asleep?”

“Sorry. Went to sleep late last night,” Sam replies. “Come back here, I’m cold.”

Bucky swallows. It’s a good thing. Sam doesn’t need to listen to Bucky’s rhetoric questions and pathetic fears. That’s what babysitting Nate is for. Nate doesn’t judge, though he does spit up a lot in response. “The water’s cold. Come on, let’s get out.”

-

That night, Bucky goes for a run and comes back to Sam’s bedroom to find it empty again. In the kitchen, he watches as Steve takes a cup of coffee from Tony’s hands and pushes him towards his bedroom.

Bucky waits until they’re gone and then sneaks into the kitchen. He drinks three espressos, and then another one. Instantly regretting it and feeling jittery, he makes himself a cup of chamomile tea and downs it the moment it isn’t boiling hot anymore.

He heads back to his bedroom suite. On the front door is a butterfly painting that Cassie had made for him. Suddenly, the empty room doesn’t feel welcome.

-

There’s still a hole bearing repulsor marks in Steve’s bedroom door. It’s been there since everyone moved back in. The lights are out, and Steve’s singing something soft and familiar. 

The hole will be fixed soon, probably.

-

Sam’s bedroom door is exactly how Bucky had left it. So is his bedroom.

-

Rhodey’s door is wider than the other doors — presumably to fit the wheelchair.

He turns around and goes out for another run. He doesn’t stop until his legs are shaking and he has to limp back.

-

Rhodey’s door has a gazillion post-it notes in Tony’s awful handwriting. He knocks three times.

“It’s open,” Rhodey calls out, and Bucky opens the door. Rhodey’s sitting up in bed, blankets spread over his legs. Sam is curled up in a ball, his head resting on Rhodey’s lap. He’s shaking. Rhodey’s hand is rubbing circles on Sam’s back. The kind of circles Sam rubs into Bucky’s skin the mornings after a particularly bad night. “Jig’s up, Wilson, wake up.”

But before Sam can awaken, Bucky takes a step back. “Sorry.” Why is he apologizing? Who fucking knows? He can’t see this, he wants to unsee it. Sam wouldn’t… he wouldn’t do this. Sam said he loved him and meant the words. This is an impossibility.

Yet in a world with giant green monsters and actual Norse Gods, impossible is just last week’s news.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking this is, you’re wrong,” Rhodey tells him gently as Bucky takes the next step back. Sam sits up in bed slowly, groggily, and Rhodey grabs him by the chin and turns his head towards Bucky.

But Bucky is faster. He moves automatically, out and away. He can see the scarlet of Cassie’s butterfly from around the corner when a hand wraps around his flesh wrist. Bucky jerks away. “Don’t,” Bucky means to snap the word like an elastic band but there’s no sting, just a dull ache, like when you’re a kid and you’ve pulled your tooth out. There isn’t anything left to do now, just wait. This pain, too, will go away with time.

“Bucky, Bucky please.”

His name on Sam’s lips is like a cheese grater being run over his heart. He turns around, taking more steps towards his door and ignoring the shine to Sam’s eyes. Why is Sam crying, the fucking asshole. Bucky clenches his fists so he doesn’t reach forward to wipe the tears away. He should have known. He wasn’t going to be enough for Sam — he would never satisfy.

“I can’t sleep either, you know,” Sam whispers. Bucky stops, his hand on the door handle.

 “Fuck off; you fall asleep on me every damn chance you get.”

“And it’s nearly all the sleep I ever get.” Sam sighs, and then takes three soft steps towards Bucky. “Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Rhodey hitting the ground. Sometimes, I just need to see him and make sure he’s okay. We’re just friends.”  Sam’s voice breaks and Bucky gives in, folding him in his arms. All the hurt drains, and nothing is left but worry and love — crazy foolish love that he can’t escape.

Sam clutches at him desperately, and Bucky lets him. How had he not realized how much Sam was hurting? All this time, thinking of what he wanted and not what Sam needed. “There is nothing between Rhodey and me. You’re it for me.”

Sam’s words are hushed and stuttered, the short hairs of his goatee rubbing against Bucky’s neck. He lifts him up — he doesn’t have words — just lifts him into his arms and takes him back to the bedroom. The lights stay off, but he settles them in bed, blankets around them. Sam is still shaking, still breathing raggedly, still clutching his shirt like he’s afraid Bucky will leave.

“Shh, it’s okay. I got you.” Bucky soothes. “I’m not going anywhere, even if you’re asshole.”

Bucky rocks him in his arms until Sam stops shaking, until his hands let go of their death grip on Bucky’s shirt. He’s asleep in minutes.

So Bucky carefully pulls away and covers Sam in blankets. The bags under his eyes make Bucky want to sob. How had he not noticed how bad it had gotten? He traces one with his flesh thumb, and Sam opens his eyes. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky tells him. _(“Fuck off, you fall asleep on me every damn chance you get.” “And it’s nearly all the sleep I ever get.”)._ He grabs his tablet, then climbs under the blankets too, sitting up until his hip lines up next to Sam’s head. “Good night.”

“You’re not staying up all night. Come on, try to sleep.”

“Good night, Sam,” Bucky says. Sam sighs and turns, pressing his face to Bucky’s thigh and his arm over Bucky’s legs.

-

There’s a text message from Rhodey on his phone marked from an hour ago.

Rhodey: I know Tones likes to tell the world I like penis but managing to fit five hot dogs in my mouth doesn’t make me gay. Just an idiot 21-year-old.

Me: Shame. The good ones are always straight.

Rhodey: I cannot for the life of me figure out if you’re joking or not.

Me: Exhibit A: Bruce.

Rhodey: I’ma put a stop to this conversation right now.

Rhodey: I’ve listened to Sam wax poetic about you too often for you to ever doubt him. Are we cool?

Me: I’m pretty thawed out actually.

Rhodey: Fuck you.

Me: We’re cool.

Rhodey: Is he okay?

Me: He’s asleep.

Rhodey: Good.

Me: Yeah.

Rhodey: Try to get some sleep, Thawed Soldier.

Me: Fuck. You.

Rhodey: No, thank you. Good night, James.

Me: Good night, James.

-

Twitter keeps him company. Two of Sam’s friends are in the middle of a twitter war about what the right amount of milk in bowl of cereal is. It rages for the better part of an hour. By the time they reconcile and make plans to meet up for coffee, Sam’s snoring into Bucky’s side.

So Bucky opens up Sam’s tumblr. He reblogs about twenty shitposts before deciding he’s done enough damage and then opens up a digital copy of _Anne of Green Gables_. Somewhere in his Swiss-cheese brain, there’s a half blurry memory of reading this with a very young Natalia, correcting her pronunciation until she sounds like a New York schoolgirl. It’s one of the good ones. (“No, Ah-von-LEE. Try again, little spider.”)

At six am, Redwing starts beeping at Sam to wake up. “Hush, I’ll wake him up later,” Bucky tells him, and Redwing goes back to hibernation.

At six-thirty, Steve knocks on Sam’s door, for their daily run, no doubt, then comes in. “Oh, hey.”

“Not today, Stevie.”

Steve frowns even as he nods his head. “Everything okay?”

Bucky shrugs.

“If you need to tal—”

“Go away, punk.”

“Fine, jerk.”

It’s nearly noon when Sam wakes up, and Bucky suspects it’s from the sound of Bucky’s grumbling stomach. “Stay here a minute,” Bucky tells him and makes his way to the bathtub. The knock at the door comes just as the foam is forming and the water has filled the bathroom. Bucky’s makes it to the door before Sam untangles himself from the bedding. 

“Thanks, Stevie.” Bucky takes the tray of coffee and oatmeal.

“Let me know if you need anything else okay?” Steve leans forward and presses a quick kiss to his forehead. Bucky feels like he’s six again and fallen from the swings. Bucky nods, and then shoves him out of the bedroom.

He turns around. “Didn’t I tell you to stay there?” Sam throws his legs back under the blankets. Bucky brings the tray over and sets it up in bed, sitting it over Sam’s stretched out legs. “Eat.”

“Bucky.”

“I told Stevie to put honey in the oatmeal, now eat it before it and the bath water gets cold.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Sam nods, then reaches forward. Warm lips meet his own for a chaste moment before they press against his jaw, then under his ear. Bucky lets out a sigh and tension he hadn’t known was present in his back dissipates.

-

 “I missed Avengers training today.” Sam says, his back against Bucky’s chest. The bathwater is more cold than not, and a shade of grey that’s beginning to disgust Bucky.

“It’s okay, I know your boss. He gave me the A-okay.” Bucky got Sam’s fingers in his own and they’re fine-boned and gentle despite — or maybe because — of the calluses and scars that adorn them. “Sammy, how’re you feeling?”

“Well-rested.” His fingers squeeze Bucky hand tightly.

“Good,” Bucky tells him, pressing a kiss to his neck. Nothing’s going to happen to Sam. He’s going to stay with him. Sam’ll get enough sleep and Sam’s going to be fine. He’ll be happy if it’s the last thing Bucky does. Sam turns around in the bathtub and it’s kind of a pain, elbows and knees and filthy soap water leaving trails on breathtakingly beautiful brown skin. Bucky never wants to stop touching him anyway. Has love always felt like air rushing out of his lungs?

“Let’s go for a walk.” Sam brings his hands to Bucky’s face as he says this, solid, gentle palms pushing the pieces of him together until they stick together again.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky blurts out.

“What? What are you sorry for? I’m the one who was keeping secrets from you.”

“You think we’d all have learned a lesson about keeping secrets after Steve and Tony, eh?” Bucky replies as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. They get up together, Sam pulling himself up by Bucky’s shoulders.

“Hey.”

“Okay,” Bucky turns on the shower tap to rinse them off. “Let’s go for a walk.”

-

The woods come alive around them as nature calls out its spring time song. There’s a bench on the side of the pathway, it faces a small artificial lake. The ducks are fat because there isn’t a single person on the compound who doesn’t love them. There used to be a sign that said “do not feed the ducks” on them. It sits in Natasha’s bedroom now. They sit on the wooden bench, their sides pressed together, Bucky’s arm thrown over Sam’s shoulder and Sam’s arm resting on Bucky’s thigh. “Why are you sorry?” Sam asks.

“You said. You said that being in a relationship meant we had someone to lean on. You couldn’t lean on me.” The stupid ducks are making their way out of the water and coming towards them. Apparently fear of humans is not something they ever learned.

“Bucky. No. That’s not true. It’s…” Sam takes a deep breath. “You have enough nightmares of your own. You shouldn’t have to be burdened with mine too.”

“Bullshit.”

“Bucky.”

“That’s bullshit, Sam. You insist I should wake you up when I have nightmares, because that’s your burden to share with me. You said, _you said_ that if I couldn’t trust you with me, then our relationship would never work.” His voice cracks at that and he hates it. He can’t lose this. Can’t lose Sam but suddenly it’s coming out, and Sam’s the emotionally mature one here. “Am I even enough for you? Do you trust me?”

Sam opens his mouth, then closes it. Sam turns beside him, grasping him by the shoulders and making them face each other. “Look at me.” He puts his hands on Bucky’s face and Bucky breathes in sudden relief. “I trust you. You are all — listen to me — _all_ that I need. I am so sorry that I haven’t shown you that. I shouldn’t have kept secrets from you.”

“Tell me now,” Bucky says. Sam let’s go of his cheeks and settles beside him. He pulls his knees up and presses them against Bucky’s thighs.

“I’ve been having nightmares since Rhodey fell. I… I couldn’t save Riley, and I couldn’t even reach Rhodey…” Sam closes his eyes. “In my dreams, he doesn’t wake up.”

“I’m not going to tell you it wasn’t your fault,” Bucky tells him. Sam startles up at him. “Every time Steve said that to me, I felt like clocking him one. Just because that’s the fact doesn’t change how you feel.”

“I hadn’t been sleeping well since… well, since the Raft, I guess. And it’s been getting slowly better since I started going to counselling. But I always slept better when you were around.”

“I was only ever around for a couple hours at most.”

“I know, but after Steve and the arm, you didn’t want to risk it, and I just… I didn’t want to hurt you by asking for something I knew you couldn’t give me.”

“What exactly did you think I’ve been doin’ all of today?”

“And how many hours of sleep did you get last night.”

Silence. “Fuck off, Sammy.”

Sam laughs a little at that, a short huff of breath. “This isn’t sustainable.”

“I’m a super soldier. I can handle a couple days without sleep.” Sam just gives him this look and Bucky shrugs. “I should have known.”

“Known what? We’ve had this conversation before, Bucky. We have to tell each other what we need or want from each other. This isn’t your mistake. I chose not to have that conversation with you. Because I figured I would get an answer I wouldn’t like.”

Bucky nods his head and rests his head on Sam’s shoulder. “Can we have that conversation now?”

“Bucky.”

“Sam.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything I ask. My mental health is my responsibility, not yours.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

Sam rests his head on top of Bucky’s. “I want us to sleep together. Really, sleep together. No more of this you running off every night, or having to stay up the whole night so I could sleep. I can’t ask you that with a clear conscience. I want your arms around me when we go to sleep and I want to wake up to your grumpy face.”

“ _You’re_ a grump face.”

“Bucky.”

Bucky sighs. “I want that. But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“What happened with Steve was an accident. It was months ago. You’re much better now, and I think we can have Friday wake you up before your nightmares get too bad. She does that for me like a dozen times a night. She can do that for you a few times a month.” Sam smiles. “Tell me what part of this issue hasn’t been taken into account. What bugs you here?”

“What if I hurt you anyway?”

“I trust you not to.” Sam’s hands are steady inside Bucky’s.

“I’ll think about it.”

-

Sam’s always quiet when he’s inside Bucky. He wants to see everything, likes to kiss the whole time, what Bucky looks like on his back, legs wrapped around Sam’s waist, Sam on his knees, filling him up like it’s nobody’s business. He’s brutally generous like this. Bucky’s come twice already, proof of it sticking to his belly and the coarse hair of his sex, and contrasting against Sam’s dark fingers where they’re wrapped around Bucky’s cock. Sam’s unforgivingly slow, and Bucky knows, he fucking knows it’s payback for all the teasing when it’s Bucky’s turn to give, except it’s so good, the slow push and pull of Sam’s hips is hypnotizing. And it’s okay, because Bucky’s come twice.  The super soldier serum’s resulting refractory period is a blessing. Once the edge is off, he can go on forever like this, just ride the waves of pleasure and let Sam do his thing.

Sam’s always quiet like this, no sarcastic quips or witty one-liners. Bucky would jump in and fill up the empty space but there’s this intensity in the way Sam looks at him, and it gobbles up the words inside Bucky’s mouth. And Bucky rolls his hips and lets Sam in a bit deeper, squeezes just a bit tighter, and then Sam’s pulling out. He adjusts until their cocks are grinding each other’s, until they’re both coming. Bucky opens his arms and doesn’t say, “I got you, trust me.” But Sam hears it anyway, and collapses on top of him.

-

“This is so gross,” Sam grumbles after, trying to wipe dried come off of Bucky. “I cannot believe you prefer this.”

“We wouldn’t have this problem if you’d remembered to get condoms,” Bucky retorts. “Not everyone can be you, and like come leaking out of them for a day after sex, thank you very much. Also, my mouth was literally right here, and you decided to come all over the bird’s nest.”

“You have the weirdest hang ups, oh my God.”

“I’m old and unlikely to change, hurry up, it’s cold.”

So Sam grabs another wet wipe and drops it on Bucky’s penis. It’s really fucking cold though, so he pushes Sam off the bed and hits the shower. The water’s warm by the time Sam jumps in behind him and grabs the body wash. “You’re a terrible person and I don’t know why I love you,” Sam tells him.

“Because you’re a terrible person, too. Wash my hair.”

-

Sam’s putting on fresh pyjama bottoms when Bucky comes out of the bathroom. “Can you put my hair in a topknot?”

“Pass me the hair band,” Sam replies.

“It’s on your wrist.” Bucky sits down on the bed and hands Sam the brush with his flesh hand. Sam shakes his head, but takes the brush.

“I swear you do this on purpose.”

“I can’t believe you’re complaining about helping out a disabled person.”

“Fuck off,” Sam says flatly. The boar bristle brush has red hairs from earlier today. Bucky’s fishtail braids looked fan-fucking-tastic in Natasha’s hair though, so it’s worth it.  Sam pulls the stray hairs out and throws them in the bin. “You have a perfectly usable metal arm. It has lasers, it has missiles. Hell, it has a vibrate function because Tony Stark has no shame. The arm—”

“— has already been removed, and you know it takes time for the neural links to connect when I put it back on.” Because see, that’s the deal. Bucky will sleep here, as long as the arm is removed for the night.

“You do this on purpose,” Sam repeats, brushing his hair up into a pile at the crown of his head.

Bucky presses his face into Sam’s belly, placing a few chaste kisses to his bare skin as he wraps his arm around his waist. “Can you blame me?”

“Yes,” Sam replies. “There, it’s done. Now let’s go to bed. Be the little spoon for a change.”

“No, you can never settle your lower arm and it’s annoying as fuck.” They climb in, shoving each other on the way.

“Well, I unlike you, can’t just remove my arm for the night so it doesn’t get in the way.”

“Can you move over?”

“No.”

Unfortunately for Sam, Bucky can still overpower Sam even with just one arm. “When the stump starts bugging you and you sprawl all over me, I _will_ kick you out of bed.”

“Sure you will, Sammy.”                                      

“I hate — wait are you wearing socks to bed? What’s wrong with you, take them off.”

“No. Your feet are always freezing.”

“Not everyone can have super soldier body heat, asshole. Hey, where’s my phone, I need to send my good night tweet.”

“Go the fuck to sleep!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Come visit me on tumblr? I'm soniclipstick there too.


End file.
